


A Mutual Arrangement

by Altonym



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, mutual beards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:16:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altonym/pseuds/Altonym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caedmon Cousland and Anora Mac Tir married for political ends - few would have imagined their rule would last so long, or bring about such lasting change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mutual Arrangement

Every Wednesday evening, at about the time the Korcari nightwinds first made their fury heard against the rattling windowpanes of Fort Drakon, King Caedmon was known to cross from one side of the castle to the other. Cooks giggled it to one another over their heavy winter casseroles, squires on evening courtyard duty smirked up at the flickering torchlight as it moved from corridor to corridor, the guardsmen whose mouths were paid to stay closed betrayed only a flicker of amusement as the King of Ferelden proceeded to his wife’s chambers.  
  
Bedding Night, they called it, under stifled giggles. The Monarchy that had proved itself so organisationally gifted, so uncompromising, kept also to a precisely defined schedule of reproduction, or so the gossip went. Like clockwork he found her bedchamber, rigid and precise (“if she’s lucky, at least!”). They were not a couple that readily inspired love - they said Anora was too cold, which was code for she’s capable, they said she was rude, which was code for she’s not a pushover, they said she was ruthless, which... was a little closer to the truth. Caedmon was quiet, retiring, deliberately solemn. Contrasted against the colourful procession of even the most minor Orlesian noble, he was not talked about in stories - not in his current form, anyway. He was the Hero of Ferelden, the Hero whose happy ending had gone on for years now. He was, inevitably, a disappointment in the flesh (“but not to Anora of a wednesday night, eh?”).  
  
Anora’s door would make the same cautious creak whenever he arrived, and that was how she knew of him. They worked separately for appearances, though it was common knowledge that they were at least partners, if Anora was not in fact the effective senior of the two. These meetings were not for sexual congress, though they had laughed for a long time when they inevitably heard the rumour - they had laughed for many reasons at once.  
  
“Evening, darling.” Anora had come to mean it when she used that particular endearment, though it had been initially learned by rote. He gave her only a little smile in response, which had ceased years ago to annoy her. Now she viewed as an honest response from an honest man - albeit a quiet one, in keeping with his countenance. In truth, sometimes even she wondered how this mouse had slain a dragon.   
  
 _With mystical death-warden powers, no doubt._  She allowed herself a little grin, then cleared her throat - there was no need to drag out pleasantries in private. “We have news from the west - bloody miserable, as always. Some of the banns on the fringe with Newdale aren’t keeping to their border agreements.” She sniffed irritably.  
  
Caedmon merely blinked. “Not keeping, how? More poaching?”  
  
Anora shook her head, rubbing her eye reflexively. “The Bannkeeper says they’ve established trading settlements and they’re claiming they have the right to outposts ‘which maintain the good state of trade’, it’s a blatant misrepresentation of the..” she tutted, searching for the thought, “the clause we added to the amendment to Oakcross, so that we could keep maintaining the main west route through their bloody magic forests.” She made spooky hand signals in a dismissive manner.  
  
“They’re not-” Caedmon began saying, before he decided not to. Anora’s support for the Newdale was predicated on the political - she viewed it as an additional pretext and as retroactive justification for restructuring the bann/arl system to the favour of their (at the time) fairly fragile rule. They had been forced early on to concede powers to their nobility - nobody wanted the daughter of Loghain Mac Tir pulling, well, another Loghain. The nobles wanted extended legislative powers, landsmoots on a more regular basis over many different issues of constitutional and international importance - more power to the banns. The next time darkspawn threatened Ferelden, they wanted a ruler, not a despot.  
  
At the same time, the Dalish who had been so key to the success of the war effort wanted their just reward, independence, a level of autonomy rather than the lawlessness they had been forced into by monarchic disregard. City elves wanted a greater level of representation, as did an emerging middle-class of burghers in Amaranthine and Denerim, who had fewer voices per person than the rural farmers. The Circle at Lake Calenhad wanted autonomy backed by the Ferelden Crown. It quickly became apparent that the old system was more fit for a squabbling set of de facto autonomous tribes under one high chief than any real King. It also became clear that the Monarchy would gain where the nobility lost.   
  
Anora and Caedmon had pulled off their first diplomatic coup by seeming to weight against one another. Caedmon’s people spread rumours that he was firmly committed to elven autonomy (true), that he wanted special status for cities (true), that he was opposed to Mage independence (true), that he was yelling at Anora every night, impassioned for the cause (untrue). The nobles hated his views, but they were forced to respect his Cousland ancestry - it evened out at acceptable.

Anora’s people spread rumours that she was more weighted to the side of the nobility (true), that she viewed the elves as likely to rebel again (true), that she sympathised with the mage separatists (true), that she was repeatedly ordering him to leave her sight in rage (untrue) - the burghers hated her views, but could not fail to see that her father had come from non-nobility to become regent - it evened out at acceptable.

It was not a trick that would have worked a year later, when those around them had come to realise and appreciate their level of calm - an argument from these two would have seemed unthinkable. But at the time it had been successful - the nobility talked to Anora Mac Tir, the elven representatives and the burghers talked to Caedmon Cousland, and the Queen and King talked to one another.

Eventually, a deal had been struck. The Banns would be redrawn and organised into blocs - the blocs would form several Arldoms, with a rotating Arl that cycled between each Bann on a yearly basis. Amaranthine and Denerim, the two largest cities in Ferelden, became Grand Cities, represented by city councils that were legally required to maintain a 60/40 split of humans versus elves - the alienages became semi-autonomous districts within cities. The door was also left open for new Grand Cities to be created. At Lake Calenhad the Circle was granted rights to the surrounding lands, an Arcane Arldom (counterbalanced by a Spiritual Arldom for the Chantry), and Fereldan-backed immunity to the Rite of Annulment - a semi-autonomous Circle, no longer quenchable at the will of Templar or King.

For the Dalish, one of the geographic Arldoms was reserved - Newdale, deliberately invoked as the continuation of the original Dales. Though the Dalish were required to submit ultimately to the sovereignty of the Fereldan crown, this was primarily only regarding the provision of troops for the Fereldan army in times of war, and also enforced a yearly tithe, more like a tribute than a real tax. The Dalish also provided a Bannkeeper, a representative on an equal voting stature with the other Arls.

The Treaty that established the new order, the most fundamental change in the governance of Ferelden since the uniting of the original tribes by King Calenhad, came to be known as the Note of Oakcross, after the site of its final signing by a group of seventeen regionalist Dalish clans - the six remaining secessionist clans rejected the treaty outright and moved south, founding New Arlathan in a coastal region of the Korcari wilds.

For those who remained, the Note of Oakcross was a treaty riddled with uncomfortable compromises. The elves had been given not a single majority at any level of power within the Kingdom, while the burghers ruled over only their cities, still beholden to the influence of the banns who supplied their necessary wares. Neither Caedmon nor Anora went to sleep with complete satisfaction. But they counted it as a victory nonetheless, an agreement recognised by everyone left to recognise it.

Though she had been integral to its legal reality, Anora did not view elven autonomy as a priority beyond its use as a method of winning elven support; Caedmon had come to realise this with increasing dismay. The elven minorities in the cities and in Newdale had been some of their staunchest allies, especially after the inevitable acts of retribution by a human population still chafing at the idea of elven representation - the Crown had won allies among the downtrodden by enforcing the rules of their treaty, though it was as much to show they meant business as it was to defend the rights of elves. Anora did very little that was not at least a little political. 

“It’s a violation of the treaty. A direct violation of Crown authority.” She looked up at him, shaking her head and confirming all of his thoughts. “You’re good at this sort of thing, elves versus macho nobles, it’s very you. You go.” 

He gave a little smile. “Alright. I’ll take Zevran?”

She nodded. They still asked one another, even after all this time. It still felt like adultery not to ask. “Bann Cauthrien can be called in your absence, to hold court.”

He nodded. They gave each other a look, something like alliance. “Send the papers to my rooms and I’ll take them with me, get a feel for the specifics of the dispute. I doubt this is a Dalish problem, I’ve yet to find a dispute that wasn’t...shemlen.” He gave a ghost of a smile, very morbid, and she rolled her eyes.

“You would say that.” She cast her eyes down at her work, and Caedmon couldn’t help noticing her - the thin blonde hair kept tied tight, the trail that drew across the page, the breath she kept held up in her body until it huffed out, sharp and deliberate. He had married someone he had come to love, just rather not the way one was supposed to. They updated each other a little while longer, but it had been an uneventful week and there was little they had not already hashed out during court.

He strolled back towards his quarters - no doubt the servants would report he’d been quick this week. Caedmon thought it probably helped, the sniggering - he would rather be a King laughed at than a King feared. In person, people were intimidated by him; perhaps it was the Crown, perhaps it was the silence that had drawn in on him over the years, as he dreamed more and remembered old friends.

Alistair was off somewhere fighting, no longer bothered with Kingship. It made Caedmon smile.  _You escaped!_  Sometimes these ragged-written letters would appear at the fort addressed only to to “C” - they’d tell of adventures, of food, of fun. One day C knew he would go back out there, find a cave to die in. But he still had a few years left before that, easily. A few years, perhaps, to convince Anora some things were worth more than stability.

Until then, he had a household guard- led by one Ser Arainai, now titled, pure and good. One of the first of a new order of elven knights. Occasionally they reflected on how unlikely it all was, but then it was hard to imagine anything else happening - beyond being eaten by an archdemon, perhaps. Tomorrow Zevran would receive a summons - sent halfway across the city by courier because a King cannot ask himself.

The anticipation would get Caedmon through a few days of court, a few days of argument, a few days of pain. Old wounds and darkspawn taint had begun to hobble him, begun to make him lose himself mid-sentence - very occasionally, but he knew the Queen noticed. He would take stairs slowly, plan his day so that once he got to bed, he would not have to leave the level. He did not spar any longer.

He had a few years, he imagined. But not much more.


End file.
